


Dress

by wth_am_i_writing



Category: VIXX
Genre: Break Up, Depression, Failing relationships, POV Second Person, Self Confidence Issues, body image issues, dieting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-09-30 08:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17220404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wth_am_i_writing/pseuds/wth_am_i_writing
Summary: Expensive Designer Dress–three words that never had nor ever would fit you.





	Dress

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr on July 29, 2016.
> 
> Original Author’s Note: I haven’t posted since April. DDD: It’s not like I haven’t been writing though! I’m about 30K into the Navi fantasy piece, and honestly that’s gonna be a while yet since I’m not close to finishing it. I wanted to put something else out though, so I started work on this piece. I’ve actually had the idea for this piece for a while, but my initial conception of the plot was much longer. I wanted to write something under 2K, so I went with an entirely different narrative style than I’d initially wanted and condensed the plot. The narration really wanders back and forth, but I’m actually quite pleased with the result. The topic might be difficult for some people though so uh, heed the warnings?

With a sigh, you carefully folded the little black dress that had been the center of your stress for the last three months and placed it in the bottom half of a tissue lined gift box. After smoothing the dress out, you wrapped it in the excess tissue paper and put the top on the box. Sighing again, you secured the top onto the box with four pieces of tape. When you were done, you rested your hands on top and stared at the dull white of your bedroom walls. Another sigh. It felt like the millionth sigh. It probably was the millionth sigh.

Your tears had dried up a while ago, and you liked to tell yourself that you were entering the numb phase, but you felt too fragile to really be numb. If you were going to do this, it needed to be now. Taking a slow, deep breath, you closed your eyes and steeled yourself. You let the breath out slowly, trying to let all the emotions attached to the dress flow out with it. It didn’t work. It was still painful. These types of things always were. But you were ready. You took the box from your bed.

Somewhere deep inside you felt regret for the sheer, shallow fact that the dress was gorgeous. It was the kind of designer dress that you could only ever dream of buying on your salary. Expensive designer dress. Those three words alone were enough to tell _you_ that the dress wouldn’t suit you. It hadn’t stopped you from _wanting_ to wear the dress, though. It was gorgeous, daringly modern. A dress to wear in order to draw attention. A dress for a night on the town. It was exactly the type of dress Ravi would wear if he were a woman.

When you’d received the dress in the mail, you’d been overjoyed. A gift from the boyfriend you hadn’t seen in weeks due to overseas activities.

_“There’s a showcase event in three months and I’d be honored if you came.”_

But the smile had melted off your face as soon as you’d pulled the dress out of it’s wrapping. Size XS, straight from the runway and two sizes too small.

Perhaps if Ravi hadn’t been dieting himself at the time.

_“Think of it as a goal to reach. Three months is enough time.”_

Perhaps if he’d been around enough to see how often you weren’t at home these days.

_“I’m getting back tomorrow, but I have a schedule in China in three days, so I don’t think there will be time to meet.”_

There were many perhapses, but none of them could change the current reality. The damage had already been done.

The only mirror in your apartment was over the sink in your bathroom. You’d never been especially drawn to look at yourself in the mirror, but over the last month, you’d found yourself actively avoiding it. You didn’t even bother to check to see if you were presentable on your way out the door. You knew you looked like a mess. You were a mess. A face mask could only hide so much, but you pulled one on anyway, ignoring the annoying way it tugged at your ears.

The train ride to Ravi’s dorm was less familiar than it probably should have been. They’d moved several months ago and you’d only been shown the outside of the building once. Ravi never wanted to have you over. Over protective managers, nosey members, stalker fans; the excuses were endless and the reasons never bothered you. There were better places to spend your limited time with Ravi–discrete cafes, sparsely traveled corners of the city, your apartment.

You used to like trying to cook for him even though you never thought of yourself as a better than average cook, even though you rarely took the time to cook for yourself, even though boiling water for ramen sometimes felt like too much of a bother. A domestic game you played by yourself. A treat for a man that often ate poorly because of his schedule. A smile on a person you loved’s face.

_“You didn’t need to fix me anything… I ate before coming.”_

His most recent diet had snuffed out any joy you used to take in cooking for him.

_“Chicken breast and eggs.”_

Something had changed, so gradually you almost hadn’t noticed.

_“I’m not eating rice right now–Just how much are you planning to eat?”_

He’d always been on the thin side. You’d watched the cut of his muscles change over the years. At first, he’d put on a bit of fat, barely noticeable compared to the amount of muscle bulking he’d done. His abs had been well defined, and he’d worked hard to get them. Eventually finding it too burdensome, he’d quit the abs maintenance diet and exercise routine. His features softened, his stomach smoothed out. Then he’d thrown himself into his work, extra hours in the studio, extra hours in the dance practice room, extra hours at the gym. The abs came back. Then came the strict diet. His face became thinner, his muscles lean. More work.

_“I just think this image suits the concept better, you know? I want to show everyone my best.”_

You didn’t care if he had cut muscles or a soft stomach, but he was always critical of himself, always trying to improve himself. Over the last few weeks, he’d wistfully mentioned bulking up again, but it was hard with schedules in three different countries.

_“One of these days, I want to go sightseeing with you in Kyoto. It’s quieter than Tokyo. I think you’d like it.”_

In his to and fro, his ups and downs, it didn’t seem like he’d noticed that you were just barely holding yourself together at the seams.

You called Ravi’s manager as soon as you were outside the station. It was late, but you knew he wasn’t asleep. You doubted anyone in the dorm was at this hour.

“Can you meet me outside? I need you to pass something along for me. I don’t want to disturb his work,” you said, looking wearily down the street in front of the station. The manager agreed, and you moved forward, chest feeling lighter with the knowledge that it would be quick. At least for now. There would probably be another fight later.

You’d fought about the dress three times–twice over the phone, once in person.

_“I want you to be healthy.”_

Losing that much weight that fast wasn’t healthy.

_“You can do it if you really try.”_

He wasn’t there when you’d almost fainted from going two days without food. You didn’t tell him it happened. The days of skipping lunch didn’t work. Your job was just so stressful you’d unconsciously overeat at dinner. And on the weekends. The mindless hours you’d spend in front of the TV trying to forget the week, trying to forget your loneliness, were dangerous. Five times you’d stepped on the scale and the numbers were higher. You’d cried each time.

_“Don’t tell yourself it’s impossible. I’ve seen others do it.”_

You weren’t in show business. You didn’t spend six hours a day dancing. You didn’t have managers to force you to stay on an extreme diet.

_“If you need motivation, we can go to the gym together–”_

You’d only seen him three times in the last three months. He hadn’t answered your texts in two days. You hadn’t spoken on the phone either. That brought on its own set of anxieties. He worked so much. He wanted you to lose weight.

_“Sorry, not tonight. I’m not in the mood.”_

He hadn’t even been able to get hard. His mind had been somewhere else.

_“I’m too exhausted.”_

When he’d turned down sex a second time, you couldn’t feel confident he was _just_ tired.

_“I just want to sleep. If I went home, my parents would keep me up almost all night asking me questions.”_

He’d looked so tired that you’d wanted to believe him, but the little voice in the back of your head kept nagging you. He’d been out with several of his friends recently, probably on more instances than he’d come to visit you. He called it work, collaboration. Even now, he was probably preparing for the showcase event, exhausting himself. He didn’t come because he wanted to spend time with you; he came because he wanted quiet–at least that’s how it felt.

_“You look like you’ve gained weight.”_

He didn’t find you attractive anymore–at least that’s how it felt. You didn’t feel attractive anymore. He wanted you to wear a dress, and no matter how _damn hard_ you tried, you couldn’t. You’d have bought a larger size yourself if not for the price, but you doubted that would make him happy. You could wear another dress but that wouldn’t resolve any of the other problems that had surfaced recently. If he’d found someone better–If he no longer thought you were attractive–You just wanted things to be good between you again. If you could lose weight–If you could fit into the dress–If you could just take a knife cut off the fat–

The side door to the building that contained VIXX’s dorm opened, jarring you out of your thoughts. The manager you’d called stepped outside, expression expectant. You swallowed, steeling yourself as you stepped towards him, holding the box out.

“Please pass this on to Ravi for me,” you murmured when the manager just stared.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Clothes,” you said simply, not really wanting to get into everything with Ravi’s manager.

“Oh? Did he leave something at your place again?” the manager asked, expression and tone turning more curious as he took the box.

“Not–exactly,” you fumbled. “Uhm, he’s at the studio, right?” you asked, daring to meet the manager’s eyes. “He hasn’t answered my texts in a while.”

“Yeah. He’s been locked up there for the last two days preparing,” the manager said.

“I see,” you mumbled, dropping your eyes to the box. “Can you tell him to call me when he can? I need to talk to him.”

“I will,” the manager agreed easily. You forced a smile reflexively despite the fact that he couldn’t see your mouth through the face mask.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, giving him a quick bow. “I should get going. Thank you again.”

“Good night. Be safe on your way home,” the manager said. You gave him another quick bow and turned to leave.

Maybe if you could fit in the dress.

Maybe if he could make more time for you.

If he’d just call.

If you could complain without feeling guilty.

But there were a lot of ifs and maybes.

You weren’t going to let this ruin you further.

It was over, you’d realized yesterday. It probably had been for a lot longer than either of you’d realized.

If he’d just call, maybe you could find better closure.

Maybe it wouldn’t have to be over.


End file.
